Something Wicked This Way Comes
by Mkaput926
Summary: What exactly happened on the fateful night of the Potters' deaths? This story attempts to explain the details of Voldemort's visit to Godric's Hollow and after. Please R&R!
1. Godric's Hollow

Chapter 1-Godric's Hollow  
  
Godric's Hollow was a quaint town with a cobbled street and its fair share of oddity. It was one of few places left in England that was almost entirely populated by wizard kind. And it showed. The stores were of a strange (well at least from a Muggle perspective) variety, openly proclaiming the sale of wizard robes and exotic, magical animals. Some of the more blatant sellers of wizard merchandise such as Briggs' Broomsticks, Elwin Bros. Wand Distributors ("proud carriers of Ollivander and Gregorovich creations"), and Oldridges' Wizarding Supplies had been bewitched to resemble, to Muggle eyes, abandoned storefronts with CLOSED signs hanging from their dusty windows. Not that it mattered much. Few non- magic folk ever came through this stretch of country. If they had, they would have seen things no one in the Muggle world had ever witnessed (or, after Ministry Memory Modifiers got a hold of them, things no Muggle would ever remember witnessing). Youths played spirited games of Quidditch in the fields surrounding the Hollow, wizards and witches in all sorts of odd clothing would Apparate and Disapparate with a crack! at will in broad daylight, and owls carrying parcels and letters could be seen swooping through the sky in flocks at any given hour.  
But as of late, Godric's Hollow had changed. No one played Quidditch anymore, or gamboled in the streets, eyeing racing brooms in the window of Briggs' or debating good-naturedly over the latest article in the Daily Prophet. People stayed inside most of the day, those having obligations elsewhere Apparating and Disapparating from inside their homes, in an effort to avoid the outside as much as possible. Those with business that required them to walk the streets did so hurriedly, not dawdling to gossip or catch up with old acquaintances. And no one ever went out after the sun went down. That was when the hand of Voldemort was most active. Voldemort, a name that few people had the courage to even whisper, instead referring to the Darkest wizard of all time, who now threatened both Muggle and magical worlds, as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who. Voldemort and his loyal followers, the Death Eaters, had amassed supporters of every type to rage forth and bring tragedy upon the witches and wizards who opposed them. The Death Eaters would visit a house or a place of occupation and when they left, death and destruction had blossomed. Entire families were murdered for resisting the Dark Lord and his vile following. The Bones, the McKinnons, the Prewitts, all accomplished and powerful witches and wizards, had been erased by the one whose name was scarcely uttered. And the Potters were next. 


	2. Between Pub and Post Office

Chapter 2- Between Pub and Post Office  
  
James and Lily Potter were crucial to the resistance against Voldemort and had defied the Dark Lord three times before. The people of Godric's Hollow rarely saw the Potters and none knew where they lived. For reasons of safety, the Potter house's location had been locked away in the mind of Sirius Black courtesy of the Fidelius Charm. After the charm was performed, the only way one could learn of the Potter's whereabouts would be if Black willingly told the information. And through the blackest treachery in recent memory, Voldemort was told where to find two of his greatest enemies.  
One Halloween night, Voldemort entered Godric's Hollow. It was late and the houses were dark. The normal sounds of the night, the chirps and buzzes of insects had gone silent, as if a hand had muffled the collective voice of nature. The Dark Lord had come. His tall, thin form, cloaked and hooded in black, appeared at the end of the street. Slowly he began to walk. His footsteps were loud on the cobbles and seemed to be amplified in the oppressive silence. He stopped as he came to a dirty alleyway between a shabby little pub and the local owl post office. The alleyway was empty, that is of course, unless you had unlocked the secret guarded by the Fidelius Charm. As Voldemort looked into the alleyway, he repeated the words spoken to him by the Potters' betrayer. The exact address of the Potter house.  
All of a sudden, a two-story house made of brick ballooned into existence between the pub and post office. It had a little iron fence around its neatly trimmed yard and lit jack o'lanterns lined the walk. Under the shadow of his hood, Voldemort smiled a wide, thin smile. He swung open the iron gate set into the fence and strode up the walk. With a clang, the gate slammed shut behind him and as it did, the word POTTER, inlaid in iron on the front of the gate, could be seen in the jack o'lanterns' flickering light, its letters cold and lifeless.  
Voldemort reached the front door and slowly the doorknocker, in the shape of a roaring lion head, rose and fell three times. As if on cue, a lock could be heard latching at the top of the door, then another, and another. A series of clicks, rattles, jingles, and ratchetings could be heard running down the length of the door as it magically sealed itself. Voldemort smirked and placed his death-white fingers upon the door. His voice was high and cold as he spoke to the night.  
"Fine, be that way." There was a flash, scalding heat, and the door exploded inward.  
Voldemort stepped into the house, the broken shards of the door cracking and smoking under his boots. He was met with silence. A staircase rose before him to a landing encircled by wooden banisters. Hallways sprouted left and right off the landing, leading to other parts of the house. Voldemort ascended and as he reached the top of the stairs, he could hear a baby crying softly in a closed room to his right. This was it. The minute before the tide would sway in his favor. The Dark Lord could sense the premonition in the air, the utter and terrible sense of purpose that permeated this moment. It was electric. Tonight would be the turning point. There would be great changes that would shake the world to its very foundations. And he, Voldemort, would be at their center. 


	3. James vs The Dark Lord

Chapter 3- James vs. The Dark Lord  
  
Suddenly, with a bang the closed door burst open. There standing in the hall, wand out, face harboring a look of intense fury, with disheveled black hair and hazel eyes on fire behind round glasses, was James Potter. There was a moment of silence in which the two long-time adversaries faced one another. Voldemort clenched and unclenched his white hands in anticipation, could hear the knuckles cracking and popping.  
"Potter," he whispered, almost reverently.  
And then the upstairs of the house exploded with action.  
Voldemort plunged a hand into his robes for his wand. But James was already moving. A jet of flame erupted from his wand tip, scorching the walls as it rocketed towards the Dark Lord. Voldemort's wand whipped out and blocked, sending the fiery projectile back in James' direction. But James was not there. He had leapt the banister at an angle, landing on the stairs and firing off a curse at Voldemort's unprotected side. Voldemort twirled as the curse whizzed by, missing its target by inches and exploding out through the wall and into the chill night air. Wind whirled through the hall, buffeting the duelists. The Dark Lord looked like rippling darkness as the air whipped his robes about his skeletal form.  
There was only a moment for James to recover from firing off his spell before Voldemort swung his wand sent shockwaves running down the staircase. James fought to keep his balance as the stairs shattered. There was a loud rumbling and then the entire staircase collapsed. James leapt at the last possible moment and his hand caught the edge of the landing. His feet swung wildly into space. James still held his wand tight, but the hand clinging to the edge was starting to lose its grip. He eyed the floor below him, huge shard of wood poked up from the wreckage of the stair, waiting to impale him should he fall. He could drop the wand and then let go, hopefully missing the shards of wood at the bottom. From there he could resume his attack upon Voldemort. But no...he couldn't leave Lily and Harry up in the closed room alone on the same floor with that...monster. Besides, it was James the Dark Lord wanted, wasn't it? If only he could get his wand hand up and resume his duel with Voldemort. He could lure him away from the landing and down the opposite hall, away from Lily and Harry; give them a chance to escape. His grip was slipping...he had to do something quick...a finger came free...and then another. Suddenly, the high, cold voice of evil cut into his thoughts.  
"Potter, you're grip doesn't look too reliable," Voldemort flicked his wand and an iron spike materialized, floating in midair above James white-knuckled hand. Voldemort smiled. "Let me help you." The spike drove downward as if struck by a sledgehammer. It plunged through James' hand and deep into the wood of the landing. James screamed. Blood spurted, staining the dusty floor. It came down James' arm in a thin, steady trickle and drip-dropped onto his glasses. Voldemort swept his wand in an arc and the spike came free, causing James to grit his teeth in agony. There was another sweep of Voldemort's wand and James was forcibly dragged by an invisible hand back up to the landing. He collapsed on all fours, coughing blood, his punctured hand burning in excruciating pain. "Stand up, Potter," Voldemort whispered. "Stand up and try to face your death with pride. A pride that you, and Dumbledore, and all the others never had." Voldemort smiled, and James could just make out sharp white teeth beneath his hood. "A lack of pride equals a lack of power, Potter. And try as you might to hide your weakness under the pretenses of nobility, compassion, and whatever other silly ideals you embrace, those with true power will always see right through you. I see right through you. "You, Dumbledore, your precious Order, you are all wasted potential. Immense power squandered in the pursuit of...I don't know what. Peace? Equality? Justice? What are those? Just excuses made by those who cannot or refuse to possess power." James looked up. "Dumbledore was right about you," he wheezed. "Down to the last detail." Voldemort cackled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what did that old, Mudblood-loving font of wisdom have to say?" James coughed severely and then replied in a croak. "He said you live a life governed by fear. Fear of losing your power. Fear of losing your influence. But, above all, fear of death itself. "Dumbledore said that you have the power to destroy almost anything, the ability to unlock nearly any secret, the cunning to corrupt almost any man. But the one thing you cannot influence or destroy is death. It is your great unknown. You cannot understand it until you experience it, and by then it will be too late. And that," James whispered, "is why you are afraid." Voldemort was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was level, and very quiet. Dangerously quiet. "A lesson you should have learned, Potter, is that the inequities of others are the stepping stones to the pedestal of greatness. We are all flawed from birth. You must recognize these flaws, these inequities, and erase them or use them to your advantage. Dumbledore's inequities make his followers weak and sentimental, with heads full of noble ideas, above cold-blooded murder and torture. It is this disadvantage I seize upon. Identifying a person's inequities is the key to defeating them. In the case of Albus Dumbledore," his voice suddenly began to quiver with rage; each word said slowly, escalating in hate, "his inequity lies in the fact that he is a DODDERING OLD FOOL!!" Voldemort's wand whipped forward and a jet of green light burst forth. James had seen it coming. He rolled aside and the jet of light missed. James came up running. He dived towards Voldemort and jabbed his wand forward viciously. With a whoosh the Dark Lord was catapulted down the hallway, away from the closed room, away from Lily and Harry! This was the only chance they would get. "Lily!" James screamed, head turned back towards the room where his wife and son were. "Lily!" The door of the room swung open and Lily Potter, her red hair cascading down her shoulders and her beautiful green eyes flashing, ran into the hall carrying the baby swaddled in blankets that was Harry Potter. "Take Harry and go!" James shouted. "I'll hold him off!" 


End file.
